Page 60 of Second Chance

“For the love of Pete,” I mutter.

“Nope, name’s Denton. Love of Denton.”

It’s my turn for my mouth to gap open.

“Holy shit,” Kristy mumbles. “I always knew it was a matter of time.”

My eyes narrow at her, ready to ask her what the hell she means but Denton cuts me off.

“Time. So much lost time,” Denton mutters, swaying forward before Billy catches him at the chest again.

“Time you admit you love her,” Kristy says over his mumbling.

My mouth falls open again and Denton’s eyes narrow at his ex. His finger lifts for a tweak of his former wife’s nose. “No can do,” Denton says, his voice lowering while his head shakes. “I’m a keeper of secrets, too.”

My brows pinch, and I glance at my brother at Denton’s side for assistance.

“Okay, pal. Let’s get you outside.” Hoisting Denton’s arm over his shoulder, my brother guides Denton out of the pub. Kristy remains at the bar, but I follow the scene before me. The diner’s definitely going to be full of rumors tomorrow morning. This conversation will make coffee talk at every table.

+ + +

I should take Denton to the Lodge, but he falls asleep the second my truck purrs to life. I don’t think I can carry him, nor do I know which room is his. Worse case is I leave him in my truck in my driveway overnight. I hope he doesn’t puke, though. That would be…unpleasant…to clean. I chuckle to myself with reminders of the boys when they were drunk in their teens.

Jax missed the toilet.

Jordan hit the front seat of Chris’s car.

It wasn’t funny at the time, but the memories of their drunk asses accost me. I turn for Denton only a second, his head pressed to the cool glass of the passenger window. Who takes care of him when he drinks too much? Does he do this often? Does he lose control? I refuse to let the last question linger. He wouldn’t do such a thing. He knows better. He has to know better.

As I pull into my drive, I stare at him a moment longer, the truck still humming. He looks tortured even in his sleep, just like when he was a kid. I turn off the engine and place a hand on his shoulder. Gently pressing at him, I call his name. A smile grows on his lips, and his face softens.

“Denton,” I say louder, jiggling his shoulder with more force. His hands flex on his thighs, his fingers stretching. Did he just groan?

“Denton,” I snap, and his hand drags up his thigh to coast over his zipper region.

“Oh, Mati,” he mutters, rubbing back and forth with the heel of his hand. The outline of a firm ridge shows along the seam of his jeans.

“Denton.” I smack his arm, and he jolts awake, his palm still covering the bulge at his zipper. He blinks, his eyes having trouble focusing on me, but a devilish gleam dances in them. His hand lifts, coming for my cheek as his body leans forward. Anticipating his move, I outmaneuver him, but he’s quick despite his drunkenness. His fingers curl around my throat.

“Don’t pull away from me.” His voice would sound sinister if I didn’t know him better. There’s an achy sound in his plea.

“Don’t kiss me when you’re drunk.”

“I’ll kiss you when I’m drunk. I’ll kiss you like a punk. I’ll kiss you here and there and everywhere.” His eyes flit over my body, causing tingles to erupt as he outlines my breasts and leaps to my crotch before landing on my lips. He hasn’t even touched me other than the grasp on my neck, and yet I feel him everywhere like he said.

His head swivels left to right, squinting as he peers out my windshield.

“You brought me to your house?” He turns to face me, and the fingers on my throat soften, his thumb stroking my skin.

“This is where I bring you,” I mutter, recalling all the times he climbed into a different house, but still my house.

“I can’t sleep with you here.” His fingers slip from my neck and lift for his hair. His head falls back to tap on the seat as his fingers rake through his short locks. I’m taken aback by his comment. Does he mean sleep sleep, like when we were kids? Or does he mean sex-sleep? Because I can’t sleep with him if he’s drunk.

“Why do you do this to me, Mati?” he questions, interrupting my thoughts of actually having sex with him. Not tonight. Not here. But in general, what would sex be like with his hard body, covering me, burying inside me, knowing what I know of his hands and his tongue and his kisses?

He isn’t looking at me as he speaks but staring out the passenger window at my house. The front porch light is on as is the front hall. It looks welcoming, but suddenly, I’m not certain I should invite Denton inside.

“I’ll take you to the Lodge, now that you’re awake.”